


His Marks Alone

by ladyoneill



Series: Lady O's Teen Wolf Bingo Stories [91]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Beating, Gen, Kidnapping, Protective Peter, Scars, Stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-23 20:34:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2554739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyoneill/pseuds/ladyoneill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia is taken by a stalker and Peter takes matters into his own hands because she's his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Marks Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the hurt/comfort bingo prompt: Stalkers. Lydia is beaten and cut but not raped, though Peter suspects the stalker got off on her pain.

As the rest of the Pack fills the small waiting room, pacing, arguing, speculating, Peter hovers on the periphery. Once he realizes they know as little as he does, he tunes them out and concentrates on the room down the hall. There are two other patients in the intensive care unit and he lets his senses speed past them to her.

To the only one who matters.

The doctor is speaking, her tone low and gentle, but professional. Peter hears a lot of medical terminology he recognizes, a few words he doesn't, but the important part is that Lydia will recover. She's not in a coma, only unconscious, and there's no reason to believe she won't wake soon. She's only in the ICU because of that and the amount of blood she lost.

There will be scars.

A bitter burst of anger fills Peter.

Only his scars should mark her.

The Sheriff walks past him, gives him a dark look, but then continues into the waiting room where he's pounced on by his son and Scott.

Stilinski doesn't know anything either, but he promises to find whatever did this to her.

Whatever.

They all assume it was something supernatural that had been stalking Lydia for nearly two weeks, finally caught her alone, and left deep cuts in her back and knocked her unconscious.

Peter's not so sure. As soon as he learned she felt she was being followed, that someone was lurking outside her house late at night--after Peter'd sourly given proof it wasn't him--he started shadowing her as well. A few times he almost saw something out of the corner of his eye. It was human shaped, not that that didn't preclude the supernatural, but very good at avoiding detection.

As the doctor and Natalie Martin walk towards him, he slinks into the shadows of a deep set door and listens as they talk to the Pack and the Sheriff. Once they finally disburse and Stilinski takes Natalie to the cafeteria for some coffee and questions, Peter moves silently down the empty hall to the ICU. All senses on alert, he avoids detection from the night shift nurses and slips into Lydia's room.

The lights are low, but he can easily see her, positioned on her side as her back was badly cut, various machines hooked to her and monitoring her. Lydia's breathing on her own but there's a nasal cannula for any needed assistance. She has IVs in both arms and a heart monitor. The read out shows her blood pressure is low and her heart slow, but neither dangerously so.

She's white as the sheet she's lying on and he can see the lines of pain and tension around her eyes and mouth. Even though she's unconscious, she's not relaxed.

Needing to see, Peter rounds the bed and settles on one hip behind her. Carefully he brushes up the side of her open-backed gown and stares at the large white bandage covering most of her back. Her hair's up in a knot on her head to keep the strands from the wounds, so he lightly places his hand on her neck and draws out her pain. When he feels her go limp, he carefully peels back the top edges of the bandage.

There are five horizontal cuts, increasing in depth as they go down her back, each an inch apart. Exactly an inch. Each is stitched shut, but blood seeps along the edges of the deepest cut that crosses right above the curve of her buttocks. All the wounds are an angry red surrounded by forming bruises that in a few days will be dark black and purple.

Not only was she cut, she was beaten first, but not with a hand or a fist. Clinically he examines the bruises that are mostly obscured by the cuts. They're darker to the left, faded pink to the right, two inches wide and overlapping. At least ten, maybe twelve, blows with a wide belt or strap.

Not a whip or a cane, nothing that cut her.

As Peter replaces the bandage, his hands accidently brush the sheet off her hips and he finds himself staring at the dark red marks on her bottom, then flushing in fury.

She was beaten like a child first, again with the implement and not a hand. A hand would give him clues, but the beating alone does as well.

It's highly unlike a monster would spank her, would be so precise with the marks and cuts on her back. The cuts were from a knife, not claws.

A human did this.

Lowering his head, he drinks in every scent he can find, filtering out those of the hospital, medication, antiseptics, and Lydia's own scents, until, finally, he finds the one that doesn't belong. Past her mother, Stiles, others in the Pack, there's one that reaches him, reeking of sickness and arousal.

Human.

Male.

Another sniff and Peter knows that at least she wasn't raped, but he wouldn't be surprised if the bastard hadn't jerked off after hurting her. Male lust lingers in the wounds and bruises. With every mark, he undoubtedly got harder. Maybe he was rational enough to know that raping her might leave stray dna even with a condom. Maybe physical penetration isn't part of his modus operandi. 

It doesn't matter.

He will never do this again.

Gently recovering Lydia's hips, Peter leans down and brushes his lips over her cheek, whispering promises in her ear, then leaves as silently as he came to do some stalking of his own.

*****

It takes him only thirty-two hours to find the man already looking for his next victim. Without sleep or food, Peter tracks him back and forth across the town, finally finding him lurking outside the high school, watching the pretty girls, as if waiting to pick up his own teenager. The car he drives is a family sedan complete with proud parental bumper stickers. His clothes are normal and bland.

He's normal and bland.

And he reeks of Lydia.

Once Peter has him isolated and trapped and down beneath his claws, he finds her panties in his pocket, a souvenir, and, infuriated, he doesn't hold back.

He also makes it last.

Hours later, standing over a bloody corpse, he casually wipes blood from his fingers as he calls Stilinski and lets him know where to find Lydia's attacker. He's not surprised when there's no attempt to arrest him, and, later, no official attempt to find who killed the man.

After all, inexplicable animal attacks are common in Beacon Hills.

It's over a week later when Lydia comes to his apartment. She's moving slowly, still on painkillers and antibiotics, but beneath those scents is that of confusion. As she sits awkwardly on his sofa across from him, he watches that confusion cross her face before finally she frowns and asks, "Why?"

"I am the best scent tracker in the Pack. I caught his scent and ended him."

"You could have had him arrested. Could have called the Pack in to take him down. Could have had them help you find him. Why?"

Peter sighs softly. Like a dog with a bone, his beautiful, brilliant Banshee. "He hurt you. He marked you."

"So?" is her blunt reply. "He wasn't the first," she adds with a pointed look, "and I'm sure he won't be the last. It was a surprise he was human, but then apparently he had a thing for redheads with fashion sense."

Yes, the police had discovered three previous victims in a hundred mile radius of Beacon Hills. All had survived, marked and scarred the same as Lydia.

"He had no right to mark you," he grinds out, angry at the memory of those scars marring her once beautiful back.

Enlightenment fills her eyes and then she narrows them. "And you're mad because you're the only one who should?"

Watching her carefully, Peter shrugs, then jerks in surprise when she yanks up the left side of her soft sweater to reveal the pale pink raised scars from his fangs. "Do you think these make me yours, Peter?" she demands, a flush on her cheeks, anger in her pretty eyes.

"Yes," he answers honestly. "Just as Scott'll always be mine, too, regardless of his current status. We can all rise and fall."

"You'll never be an Alpha again."

"Maybe, maybe not." It's his goal, of course, but he's in no hurry and he's not about to take on a True Alpha to get it, just as he made sure to remove the temptation of taking it from Derek with his life. Killing family, including his former Betas, isn't the way he wants this to go. "I bit you in convenience, because you were there, you had a connection to Stiles whom I needed, and I needed a backup plan. I had no clue you wouldn't turn but that the bite would trigger your dormant powers and that you were a banshee, which, in the end, made my return even easier."

"Lucky for you," Lydia snarls. "Not so lucky for me."

Peter shrugs. "I'm not going to apologize for wanting to survive."

Her face goes florid and she jumps to her feet, only to stumble, and Peter moves quickly, carefully taking her into his arms before she can fall. "Let me go."

"Why did you come here, Lydia?" he asks, ignoring her weak struggles, but wincing as she whimpers in pain from his hold. He shifts his hands to her biceps, pressing her to his chest.

"Let me go, let me go," she pants, in pain, and he starts to draw it from her. When she goes limp, he swings her into his arms to carry her into his bedroom where the bed is soft and the blankets warm. After settling her onto her side, he curls up in front of her, one hand sliding beneath the back of her sweater to continue to remove her pain. The bumps of scarred flesh and stitches still holding her together anger him, but he pushes it aside as he watches helpless tears leak from her tightly closed eyes.

"What do you want from me?" Lydia finally whispers.

"Nothing more than this, to keep you safe." Which isn't completely true, because he wants so much more, but she's still young and still hates him. Luckily, they have time to get past both those obstacles.

Her eyes snap open, watery but sharp. "I'm not yours."

Peter just smiles at her denial and his hand shifts to the scars on her hip, the tips just visible above the low cut pants she's wearing. Her cheeks flame and she bites her lips, but she doesn't try to get away.

For now, he'll take that as a victory.

End


End file.
